


Hope

by raiyana



Series: The Dwelf series [24]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Pre-The Hobbit, War of Dwarves and Orcs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 17:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12846357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: Dwalin spent most of the War against Orcs with the army of the Iron Hills.He even made a few friends...





	Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Fic written for sweeticedtea on Tumblr

He was tired, but they were all tired these days, and Dwalin had never been one to complain about his lot. No, he left that to the King, to Thraín whose complaining had dragged their whole race into a war Dwalin wasn’t sure would ever end.

Of course, he told himself, trying to stay positive, he had seen more of the world than his dwarfling self had ever expected. Gladden fields, for example; apparently the site of an old battle, an ambush that killed a King of Men and his three sons all at once. There was little to see now, of course, it having happened more than 2500 years earlier – it was amazing the facts that people remembered, even with the Library in Erebor lost to the rule of a fire-breathing dragon – and Dwalin wondered if he was about to join this long-ago King in spilling his life’s blood across this stretch of land by a narrow river.

“No, you’re not,” came the wry reply, making Dwalin realise that he’d spoken the miserable thoughts out loud. He looked up sharply, a smile appearing on his face without his notice. “I’ll not allow it, Dwalin Fundinul, hear? You’re much too skilled to get killed – hey, that rhymed!” Cracking up with exhausted laughter at her own joke, the dwarrowdam collapsed on the grass beside him.

“Adjân!” he cried, surprised to see his mud-covered friend. “You’re back!” The young Blacklock smiled, flicking the silver cuff in his ear with a light chuckle. The nimble dwarrowdam was part of the scouting team for Dwalin’s regiment, and she had left with her patrol group several days before, trying to figure out where the Orcs were hiding.

“Aye,” she sighed, yawning, “and parched. Got any water in that skin of yours?” Wordlessly, Dwalin removed the water-skin tied to his belt, handing it to her and feeling his mouth go a little dry when she swallowed its contents, leaning back onto one elbow with a sigh.

“I was worried about you, knucklehead,” he chided gruffly, covering up his genuine concern – the trackers had been meant to return after a day, and had been more or less expected lost after the end of the second.

“Aww, shucks,” she smiled, tossing the skin back and moving around to find a comfortable spot in the tall grass. “You can stop worrying now, though,” Adjân continued, flicking a piece of grass at him, “well, maybe worry about yourself; think we’ll be in combat soon,” she added, frowning at him. Dwalin snorted lightly, making the sun glint off the sharp edge of his axe. Adjân shook her head lightly, the golden beads in her dark hair making a slight tinkle when she moved. “The Orcs we were tracking seem to have holed up in some old mineshafts, but they should be easily routed. The Fabarâl is designing strategy as we speak.” Closing her eyes, Adjân said no more, and Dwalin noted the dark circles beneath her eyes, realising that she had fallen asleep from exhaustion a few moments later when a light snore issued from his friend. Shaking his head, Dwalin returned to the business of sharpening his axe. This moment of peace would be over before he knew it, he suspected, even if Fabarâl Herna’s runner took longer than an experienced scout to track him down for the upcoming strategy sessions.

 

* * *

 

Later, as he fell down onto his bedroll with a groan of tortured muscles, Dwalin would remember her teasing voice. ‘ _I’ll not allow it, Dwalin Fundinul, hear?_ ’ the words delivered in her soft accent ringing in his head as he mechanically cleaned his weapons. He should have told _her_ that, rather than the other way around. Perhaps she might not be lying on the pyre they would light in the morning if he had told her not to die. As foolish as the idea was, for a moment he wondered if speaking those words had been akin to a prayer, one that had been answered by the Valar. His ear would never be the same again – though he had killed the Orc who’d taken a bite of it – missing almost a third of its flesh, but he would have given far more than part of an ear if it had meant her smaller body had avoided the crushing blow that stole her from the world.

She was not the first friend he had lost in war; eventually, she wouldn’t even be the closest, but she _was_ the first who had died in his arms, crumpled before him even as his axe cut off the head of her killer.

Her brown eyes, so lively and joyous in life, filled with the memory of sunlight and the pleasures of home, had turned dull and flat as she lay in his arms, staring at the iron-grey sky above them without seeing.

Her eyes would haunt his dreams for years, the fleeting smile on her lips always out of reach for a young Dwarf who was growing up too quickly.

When the pyre had burned down, they collected the ashes, preparing to send them back to those who would be looking for their loved ones in vain.

Dwalin looked down at the box he held. The runes were shaky, charred into the wood with a heated spear-tip, but clearly legible.

 

 **Imnudiya Adjân, ra mahkajamai dê adjân**.

 

_Her name was Adjân, and she gave me Hope._


End file.
